


La Rosa Colta

by MsJones



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsJones/pseuds/MsJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plucking at a wilting rose, Leonardo evaluates his relationship with Ezio. Just a bit of fluff I wrote, originally inspired by a workmate who was joking around with me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Rosa Colta

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own or profit from Assassin’s Creed or any relevant characters, which remain the property of Ubisoft.

Leonardo sighed, twisting the stem of the withering flower between his thumb and forefinger. Absent-mindedly, he felt a small thorn pierce the flesh of his fingertips. He sucked his breath in harshly, feeling a stinging sensation, but he did not let go. He ignored the tiny droplets of blood running down his fingers, instead bringing the bloom closer to his face, inhaling the last of its sweet scent, its dying embers.

He caressed the soft, fragile petals with the fingers of his free hand, examining their fading beauty. He sighed, his mind preoccupied. He had not been able to concentrate on his studies; his flying machine, his anatomical drawings, even his doodles and paintings, for days now. There was a young man who would not leave his mind, since he walked into his life, carrying a vellum scroll with a strange code upon it, which it appeared only he, Leonardo da Vinci, could decipher.

Gently, he tugged at one of the petals. It came away between his fingers.

_He loves me..._

As the petal fell to the floor, Leonardo smiled, remembering the first time he had met Ezio. It had been a big day for the young Assassin; the day the truth about his heritage, and a terrible secret which had led to the hanging of his father and brothers the very next morning, had been revealed to him. The morning before, however, in blissful ignorance, Ezio, beautiful Ezio, had helped carry a few goods from Leonardo’s workshop to the Palazzo Auditore. As they strolled there, he had talked of his ambitions to be more than an artist; to change the world. To be an architect, perhaps, or work in the field of science, maybe medicine, something that could save lives. He had even confessed his wild idea of a winged machine, one that could allow a man to fly!

_He loves me not..._

As another petal, plucked by Leonardo’s steady fingers fluttered to the ground, he thought of how astounded the young man had been at the very thought. “Men are not meant to fly,” he countered. “I prefer my feet on the ground, thank you very much!” Although he had grinned after his statement, Leonardo sighed inwardly. Perhaps the lad was right. However, Leonardo had self-belief that things were possible, and the means to make them happen were all around.

_He loves me..._

For two long years he had thought the young Assassin dead, killed in the furore that followed the execution of his father and brothers. However, Ezio had returned, a little taller, tanned, and more muscular, more beautiful, than ever. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and he could barely keep the smile from his face, when Ezio turned up on his workshop doorstep, clutching an ancient piece of parchment, and a broken bracer containing a concealed blade, that Leonardo found, upon studying the strange document, could be fashioned into a weapon for combat.

_He loves me not..._

It had taken Leonardo a few hours to repair, sharpen and perfect the blade. As he worked, he glanced over and noticed that Ezio had nodded off, and was slouched on a wooden chair, legs crossed, arms folded, head back and eyes closed, snoring softly. Amused, Leonardo had watched Ezio’s sleeping form for a little while after he had completed his work, reluctant to wake him. He looked so peaceful, despite the uncomfortable rigid position he had taken in the hard beech chair.

_He loves me..._

Leonardo thought tentatively about awaking the pretty young man with a kiss, but he was petrified of the response. Would he welcome the affection with a returned smooch, a warm embrace, and perhaps something more... in another room? Leonardo shook his head and reasoned Ezio would have the same disgusted reaction of the majority and flee the workshop, never to return. That in itself would have broken Leonardo’s heart, for he admired Ezio greatly. He was witty, friendly, warm, and absolutely gorgeous! The artist could only imagine what it would be like to be wrapped in those strong arms, muscles honed from months and months of harsh training for the horrible tasks that lay ahead.

_He loves me not..._

Finally, Leonardo had worked up the nerve to rouse Ezio from his slumber, by shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey, wake up, _amico,_ ” he had coaxed gently, squeezing Ezio’s upper arm softly, smiling as he realised how firm it was.

“Hmm? Huh? Wha...?” Ezio had stammered, his dark eyes flitting open, taking a moment to focus on the excited face before him.

“It’s ready,” Leonardo told him.

“What’s ready?” Ezio asked, confused, as he tried to collect his thoughts through his sleep-addled mind.

Leonardo smiled warmly. “The blade,” he said, holding up the bracer. “Hold out your arm.”

Tentatively, Ezio gave Leonardo his right arm.

“This blade is designed to extend and retract according to the movement of your muscles in your wrist and upper arm,” Leonardo explained as he strapped the bracer onto Ezio’s proffered limb. “Although this particular design, in order for it to function... requires a sacrifice.”

Ezio stared back at him. “Sacrifice?” he echoed, confused.

“Yes,” Leonardo explained gravely. “It is designed to ensure the commitment of the wearer, so unfortunately, I will have to remove your ring finger.” He bit his lip.

The usually swarthy complexion of the Assassin went a few shades paler for a moment as he stared, wide-eyed, at his arm, and bent and flexed his ring finger, for what he knew could be the last time. After a few long moments of contemplating if the injury would be worth it, he finally lowered his arm. “ _Bene,_ ” he answered shakily. “Do it.” Willingly, he placed his sacrificial finger onto a block of wood on Leonardo’s desk. Tensing up his shoulders, turning his head away, and scrunching up his eyes, he braced himself for the impact. “Make it quick.”

“Very well,” Leonardo answered, raising his cleaver.

_Thunk!_ Ezio heard the sound of metal on something hard, yet he felt no pain. Had it been a clean cut? It was a full minute before he dared to look, to find his finger, still intact.

Leonardo smiled broadly, his bright blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Just playing a little joke, Ezio!” he exclaimed cheerily, putting down his heavy knife. “Although a sacrifice was once required to make it usable, I have modified it to prevent that. You may keep your finger.”

_He loves me..._

Ezio had stared at Leonardo incredulously, annoyed at the nature of his little prank. However relief and some degree of beguilement was also in those big, wide eyes; Leonardo was sure his friend had seen the funny side, or at least would, eventually.

Sighing, Leonardo remembered how he had taught Ezio to use the blade: to extend and retract it by jerking his wrist upwards, and by stiffening the muscles in his lower arms. It had taken a few attempts, and some wounded fingers, but with Leonardo’s patience and encouragement, Ezio was eventually able to fully bring the blade in and out of its bracer within a second.

“Yes!” Leonardo had said, delighted his friend had picked up on the use so quickly. “You’ve got it. Well done!”

Never before had he wanted so badly to hug someone, yet he refrained from doing so. The friends had been apart for a good two years, and he was afraid of being over-friendly, in case it should startle him, frighten him away. He couldn’t handle the loss of a blossoming friendship.

Sighing, he pulled another wilting petal from the dying plant, letting it drop silently to the ground.

_He loves me not..._

Leonardo began reminiscing about their journey from Firenze to Venezia together. They met on the Apennine mountain path by a sheer coincidence, when Leonardo’s wagon had broken down, and Ezio just happened to be passing on horseback. He had, with his strong, sinewy arms, lifted the carriage high enough, and for long enough, for Leonardo to change the wheel, and had decided to accompany him the rest of the way. This, thought Leonardo, would be a great opportunity to get to know the real Ezio, and relished the thought of spending more time with his attractive friend. Leonardo was about to reach out and affectionately touch the Assassin’s knee, when an arrow whizzed past, spooking one of the horses, almost up-ending the carriage.

Straight away, Ezio had taken control. “They’re after me, not you,”  he said nobly, firmly grabbling the reins and taking the driver’s seat. He had commanded Leonardo to get inside the wagon as he dodged the flaming arrows and jagged stones shot and hurled by the guards. Leonardo recalled his fright with every turn, concerned that the vehicle would tip, or catch fire, but he trusted Ezio’s judgement. He felt he could rely upon the man, despite knowing what he did for a living, to survive in his harsh world of the unknown, conspiracy, corruption, and the fight for justice. It was so different to his world of knowledge, peace, beauty and discovery. Yet he could get along with his mercenary friend, just as well as any other _amici_ might.

Leonardo remembered the long boat journey from Forli, having wandered through the marshland. The Assassin had taken his time in finding the port, and assumed that he may have allowed himself to become sidetracked during his journey. With envy, he had begrudgingly listened as Ezio had spoken of a maiden named Amelia, who had dared him to race around the marshland on horseback, against other gentlemen, in exchange for a ‘private riding lesson.’

“But do you not already know how to ride a horse?” Leonardo had commented, naïvely. “Maria tells me you were quite the horseman in your early teenage years?” At which point the penny had dropped, and Leonardo realised Ezio had enjoyed some sort of sexual congress with the girl. He cast his eyes downward, and tried to push his rising jealousy down into the pit of his stomach, silently wondering, was his friend’s womanising a method of coping with the great loss he had experience, a symptom of his way of life?

As they prepared to leave for the final leg of their journey, to Venice, Ezio happened upon another pretty young redhead in distress. Of course, he had rescued her from her stranded position in the flooded marshland, and, as the Countess of Forli, she had granted him passage to enter Venice by sea. On the boat, Leonardo had observed his friend’s gallant behaviour towards the beautiful, spirited, red-haired woman, and asked him, “Do you know who that was?”

To which Ezio had smirked and replied: “My next conquest, perhaps?”

Leonardo laughed lustily at his friend’s wonderfully frank remark, but couldn’t resist bringing him down a peg or two, to try and discourage him away from such thoughts. “That was Caterina Sforza, _wife_ to Girolamo Riario, Lord of Imola and Forli,” he said, pointedly.

Ezio grinned a dirty grin. “That’s never stopped me before,” he replied, leaning casually back on the ship’s handrail, his elbows taking his weight.

Leonardo sighed and leaned in a similar fashion, across the way from the Assassin, penting the fingers of his open hands, subconsciously, into the shape of a heart.

_He loves me..._

_He loves me not..._

_He loves me..._

_He loves me not..._

Leonardo continued his incessant plucking of the slowly dying flower. He knew how the unfortunate plant felt, as it was exactly how he felt inside. His feelings, which he had to keep buried deep within him, were causing him such pain, akin to this withering rose, struggling to survive as it was. He could not continue living this way, lying to his closest ally, his best friend, and to himself. He looked sadly at the rose, bereft of almost all its dark pink  petals, which were now scattered among the sawdust and paint on his workshop floor. He continued with his game; he may as well finish it.

_He loves me..._

_He loves me not..._

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Feeling disappointed, Leonardo dropped the stalk carelessly onto his desk, and wandered to his _porta_ , wiping away the sticky dried blood from his fingers upon his scarlet cape.

The door creaked open, and there stood Ezio, with, as Leonardo had expected, a handful of the old scrolls, which were now most familiar to him.

“Ah, Ezio, so good to see you!” he greeted his friend, opening the door wide. “Come in, come in.” He eyed the brown scrolls. “Another few Codex pages, I see. We’ll get them translated, shall we?” He tried to forget about the rose’s negative message. _He loves me not..._

Ezio nodded, a curiously shy smile upon his face, which was unusual for him. “Y-yes of course,” he stammered.

Leonardo frowned. It was most out of character, not characteristic of the man he knew at all, to be nervous, in front of his long-time friend, of all people. “Ezio,” he asked, anxiously. “Is something troubling you?”

Ezio was silent for a moment. “No... no, not at all,” was his eventual, evasive reply. “Why would there be?” He handed the Codex pages to Leonardo, but as he did so, he caught the artist’s left hand, examining the fingertips. “You’re hurt,” he said to his friend. “How did you do that?”

“Do what, exactly?” Leonardo asked, playing dumb. Then he looked down, pointedly, obviously, at his fingers. “Oh, God, what have I done there?” he questioned himself, rhetorically. “I’ll need to get some rubbing alcohol and some cotton to clean this up.” He tossed the rolled up Codex pages onto his desk, and went to rummage in his store cupboard.

As he looked, Ezio cleared his throat, about to speak. “Leo,” he started, curiously. “Have you ever wanted to say something... but been afraid of what others might think of you for saying it?”

Leonardo grinned to himself. “Oh, all the time, my dear Ezio!” he said breezily. “You forget, I’m an inventor, a scientist, a pioneer of sorts. At least one person every _day_ thinks I am completely and utterly _pazzo..._ Ah!” He grabbed a bottle and turned around to face his friend, who was looking pale and shaky. The only other time Leonardo had seen Ezio like this was when the Assassin thought he was about to have his finger chopped off. “Ezio...” Leonardo went on, growing more concerned by the minute. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“I’m... fine,” Ezio stammered. “It’s just that... I have something rather big... I have to share with you, _amico._ ”

Leonardo smiled. “You know you can tell me anything,” he told his nervous Assassin friend. “Go ahead.” He leaned against his desk, considering Ezio with his bright blue eyes.

The Assassin stepped towards him tentatively. “The thing is, Leo,” he stammered as he got closer. “I have been thinking about you a lot lately.” He smiled, his hand, trembling, reaching Leonardo’s upper arm, shaky fingers gently squeezing.

“Is that so?” Leonardo asked calmly, watching as Ezio’s big brown eyes forced themselves to look at the artist. “Why so, my friend?”

“I-I haven’t been able to _stop_ thinking about you,” Ezio croaked, his other hand reaching up for Leonardo’s face, his fingers touching his friend’s cheek, as he stepped ever closer. “It’s a really strange feeling. I mean, I’ve never felt like this about a...”

Leonardo brought a finger to Ezio’s lips. “I know exactly what you mean, my friend,” he said, affectionately. “Because...” He felt confident, saying what he was about to, now certain his friend felt the same way. “I feel the same way about you.” He brought his left hand up to the nape of Ezio’s neck, his cold fingers making contact with the exposed flesh. Ezio shuddered a little at the icy touch of Leonardo’s fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

Leonardo withdrew his finger, sliding it down Ezio’s neck, to make room for where his lips needed to be.

Ezio sighed as Leonardo’s lips touched his. He had kissed many women before, with their beautiful soft lips and breathy sighs, but it had never occurred to him to kiss his best friend in the same way. Until now. It was a strange feeling, having Leonardo’s soft whiskers tickle his face, but no less passionate, or much different, from the many, many female lips he had encountered.

The bottle of rubbing alcohol tumbled from the desk, smashing on the floor as Leonardo carelessly leant back on it as he pulled the Assassin ever closer, his tongue probing into the younger man’s mouth. The heady scent relaxed him a little, and made him more adventurous as he reached down Ezio’s torso, tugging at the young man’s clothes. “Oh, Ezio,” he sighed, as he briefly broke contact with the Assassin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

Ezio embraced Leonardo in return, his strong arms squeezing the artist tightly as they kissed deeply. For a long time, he had wanted to do this. He had noticed the way Leonardo looked at him all these years; it was evident in his smile, the hugs he gave so freely, right down to the brightness in those cerulean eyes. It was impossible for anyone, especially him, to deny the admiration Leonardo had for him. It reminded him of how he had been attracted to women all those years. Of course, he still was, but there was something about Leonardo he could not deny.

“Leo,” Ezio said, startled, as the pair finally broke away. He was aware of Leonardo holding his hand tenderly, lovingly. “I always thought you felt something for me, but I was afraid to say anything,” he confessed. “What others might think.” He inhaled deeply. “Not of me, but of you.”

Leonardo smiled shyly. “Don’t worry about me, Ezio,” he said, squeezing Ezio’s hand, reaching for his other one, just as an excuse to touch him. “I have learned how to cope with the barbs and taunts from those who believe one is... different. So please...” He squeezed Ezio’s rough, calloused, battle-worn fingers softly, leaning close to him again, expectantly. “Let me handle it, whatever happens.”

“I _do_ worry about you, Leo,” Ezio sighed, clasping his friend’s fingers in return. “People can be so cruel, and I’ve seen what the local guards put you through.” He gave Leonardo a wide-eyed, concerned look. “You don’t deserve all that abuse, my friend.” He took a breath. “I just want to protect you.” With that, he fell into Leonardo’s shaky arms, embracing him once more.

“Thank you, Ezio,” Leonardo whispered tenderly into Ezio’s ear, his lips, trembling slightly, daring to brush the lobe. “Thank you for accepting me the way I am.” Deep in his heart, he knew Ezio never would feel the same way about him, despite the passionate, daring kiss they had just shared, and Ezio’s adorable nervous reaction before initiating the act. He was just glad his friend understood his feelings, and was brave enough to act upon them. He smiled, and looked back at the Assassin, his hands still clasping Ezio’s upper arms.

“Anyway,” Leonardo said brightly, grinning. “Let’s see about those Codex pages; see if we can’t get them translated.”

* * *

After Ezio had left, thanking Leonardo with one last hug, the artist was left on his own once more. Sighing, he stooped to pick up the fragments of broken glass from the bottle he had carelessly smashed in the heat of the moment with his Assassin friend. He shook his head woefully, wishing that maybe, just maybe, there were deeper feelings Ezio had desperately wanted to explore with him. “If only...” he sighed, as he disposed of the sharp shards.

He slunk back to his desk, staring at the scattered paperwork. There he saw the stalk of the wilted rose, the bright green now losing its lustre as well. Attached to it still was a single, solitary petal.

Carefully, Leonardo picked up the drooping stalk, studying it with a smile. The final petal came away between his thumb and forefinger....

_He loves me!_

_I knew it!_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FanFiction.net, I thought I'd spread the Lezio love.


End file.
